


Anniversary

by SmolSoldier46



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bertie and Tim are kind of in a relationship but I left it vague, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Other, Spoilers to Tims past, Still cant tag, tim being sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolSoldier46/pseuds/SmolSoldier46
Summary: At least once every year Tim distances himself from the crew leaving the Aurora silent and desolate. Every crew member knows the date and marks it in bold red lettering setting a reminder. Sometimes it lasts a week sometimes a month but it is always deathly quiet until he comes back out.Big Spoilers For Gunpowder Tims past.
Relationships: Bertie/Gunpowder Tim (The Mechanisms)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	Anniversary

To anybody not accustomed to life on the Aurora today might have seemed like any other day. Ivy was reading a new book, Raphealla was busy on a ‘personal’ project, Nastya continued to walk around talking with the Aurora, it was peaceful. To the crew however it was anything but ‘peaceful’ despite its outward appearance. Most of them had not been directly affected by the day but kept it on each calendar written in red and underlined as a reminder. Everything was a little more quiet than normal for a reason typically overlooked, Tim.

Tim avoided coming out today, just like yesterday and the day before. He still had meals,the Toy Soldier took care of that, but was almost completely silent. This happened every year and would eventually fade to normal but for now this was the normal schedule, dead, erie, and disturbingly silent. 

“How long do you think it will last this time?” Ivy had whispered, sounding louder with no background noise.

“Hopefully only a couple more days, right? He can’t stay locked in there all month,” Raphealla responded doubting her own words as she spoke. “You're the one who is all booksmart, don't you have an average?”

Ivy shook her head, clutching her book a little closer. Each time this happened Tim varied greatly, at the beginning it would take a month, three years ago it took a week, and one time it took a month and a half to even get him to socialize again. Raphealla sighed, placing her wrench on the table. “Do you want to go see if he's alright?”

“I think,” Ivy began taking a moment to review her thoughts. “I think that he needs comfort but I don't know if he's willing to accept it.”

Raphealla nodded in agreement, “But it wouldn't hurt to try would it?”

“No, I don't think so.”

Raphealla gathered up her project placing it to the side as neatly as she could before turning to the door where Ivy stood patiently waiting. Maybe it was an equal nervousness and uncertain knowledge of what Tim would be like but they didn’t want to go alone. Both made their way out of the lab and down through the twisting halls of the Aurora until reaching the common room where Toy Soldier was prepping yet another meal. 

“Has he been eating?” Ivy asked, voice laced with concern.

“He hasn’t touched a thing since yesterday evening,” the Toy Soldier explained. “Given the circumstance it's safe to assume he will only eat lunches and possibly snacks in the late evening.”

“Is he open to visitors?” Raphealla asked.

“I think that's a wonderful idea!” it answered chipperly. “It always helps to have people around when in dire need doesnt it? Do you think we should bring others?”

“No, no I don’t think he will want all of us there right now, we might already be pushing it with just us three,” Raphealla said. “What did you make?”

“Oh nothing much! Tim said he wanted something simple if he was going to eat so it's just a sandwich,” it elaborated, showing off the blank food as it made its way around the kitchen. “I'm sure you already know where his room is but I don’t think it's best to just disturb him right now so if you could kindly follow me!”

With that the Toy Soldier began its trek down the Aurora plate in hand followed silently by Ivy a Raphealla. Every hall they passed was quiet except for the distant humming of generators warming the ships insides, but as they marched on it slowly grew into a deathly silence. Lights dimmed to almost darkness and every door was shut, untouched by the occupants for the past three days. After a few more empty halls they finally reached Tim’s room, shut and locked from the inside. 

The Toy Soldier knocked once being met with nothing but silence in response. It knocked yet again, this time tougher than the first, and was greeted with a silent shuffling from the other side and responding thunk. 

“I brought food,” it said in a quieter tone then they usually spoke in. 

Nothing happened for a minute then the door unlocked and slid open just enough for him to reach out for the plate. Toy Soldier reached to give them their food before being interrupted by Ivy's hand pushing it back a little. 

“Tim are you alright?” she asked unsure of what exactly to do. “We haven't seen you in two days.”

A small voice responded to her question, dry of any recognizable emotion, “Didn’t notice.”

“Do you mind if we come in?” Raphealla asked carefully.

“I would rather you not.”

“Then do you want to come out?”

There was a pause, and then a small inhale of breath before he spoke again. “No, I don't want to. Can I have my food?”

Ivy sighed in defeat. “Yeah, but just know we’re here if this gets too rough, alright. I know its hard and-”

“I know I just don't feel like socializing right now, so please.”

“Alright, I understand. I’ll wait for when you’re ready to talk about it,” she concluded, unwilling to push Tim too far out of his comfort zone. 

“Thank you,” he finished taking the plate from the Toy Soldier and closing the door with a small click of the lock.

From there on the three were left right outside, back at square one. Tim wasn’t ready for help as much as he needed it and this was already a sensitive subject that most of them wouldn't be able to help with. At most Marius might be able to help with therapy but he had shown a distaste for the idea of it stating ‘I don’t want someone who knows me digging around in my past’.In conclusion, there was nothing either of them could do right now, so they did the second best thing and left Tim to his grievances. 

Tim had kept his room neat up until this week barely moving things around unless needed, but now he caved. He had moved and rearranged most of his weaponry and reorganized clothes in all sorts of patterns but none of them sat well with him. He had been dressed in a simple outfit for the past couple days unable to muster the willpower to take it off. A simple button up shirt pants and black coat had been his choice, fitting for the occasion yet heavily out of normality. The lights hadn't been turned on throughout this situation and some of his books now laid in piles by the shelf waiting to return to their designated locations. 

On his bed layed a series of visually useless objects unimportant to everyone but to Tim these were all he had left. Sure, everyone on this ship had something before but this, this was his and he would be damned if he let this last bit slip away. It had become tradition at this point to take out these small bobbles and lay them out carefully cleaning or admiring each one as if it was made of glass. They varied piece to piece but one he kept on his person at all times, a small dogtag much larger than Tim would dare wear with faded writing he could barely make out anymore. He held this one close not wearing it across his neck but wrapped around his wrist in a suffocating grip that might’ve cut off his blood had he still been mortal.

He learnt some new things between the years and had set up something nice in the corner for the occasion, a small altar with candles decorating it. He had placed a bottle of old whiskey there he always saved for the occasion, it probably wasn’t the best idea but it made him feel a little bit better. Tim had stocked up on a variety of drinks when he remembered the date to come but this specific one happened to be a rather expensive variety they stole from a rich party a while back, so he saved it for someone who deserved it more. Now it sat alone at the makeshift altar in a hopeless attempt at forgiveness. 

Tim placed the sandwich down on a table littered with scattered papers. One used to be his pride and joy, proof of his accomplishments and his life, now it was a burden. It had multiple facts spread across the sheet in a neat orderly fashion, right next to it was a paper still left in an old wrinkled envelope. He knew everything in the envelope by memory and far better then it could ever be preserved in writing but even then he never found the courage to open it. Maybe one day he would be able to move on, but today wasn’t that day and it wouldn't be that day for a long long time.

“How long has it been?” he asked silently to the empty space. 

Tim felt as if it was still yesterday when he first lost his eyes. He could still feel the scorching heat as they burnt out and everything went dark. If he was in the dark he could still feel as the blood trickled down his face in thick red tears reaching down his face and staining his old military uniform. Tim shivered at the gruesome memories reaching unconsciously to wipe at his eyes in response. 

He was happy to see again when Dr.Carmilla replaced his eyes but it still felt out of place. They never felt quite right no matter how many times he asked for repairs, like a pastel garden with a single black rose in it. They eventually concluded it would never be perfect so now Tim had just learnt to live with his mistakes, besides he could still see and that was better than most.

“It’s been over a century hasn't it?” he questioned counting out the years on his fingers. 

He was met only with an eerie silence in the room unable to answer his question. He could almost laugh at the irony of the situation, a ship filled with noise is only silent at the most painful of moments. Tim took a deep breath and sat down on his bed reaching for one of the larger trinkets, a glossy old photo album.

The back half of the album was dead empty but the front half was all Tim ever needed to see most of the time. The first pictures were of him as a kid with long hair and a bony frame, he had always been a lanky child and it stuck even through his immortal lifespan. One particular photograph was him sketching something that Tim could never guess but knew was the neighbors dog. It was drawn in a horrendous shade that could never be interpreted as white, but he had been so very proud of it back then his parents didn't dare insult it. These pictures served as a calm before the storm for him.

There were a couple pictures of him when he was still a young teenager varying in degrees of nostalgia. He had learnt more about fashion over the years and looking back Tim scolded himself for the old fashioned rags he used to claim were ‘stylish’. There were a couple pictures of local stores or anything he found charming enough to memorialize, but many pictures were him with lovers he couldn't seem to recall. 

“They’re probably all dead by now,” he muttered, flipping through the pages.

At this point he had reached the beginning of the storm, when rain just started to drizzle forming a comforting atmosphere before it began to pour. He stared at the first picture keeping the page occupied. He ideally should’ve put another right under it to even out the space but it felt too important to leave with something small and meaningless. It was the first picture he had taken with a new camera he had bought, an old polaroid from the local thrift store to be exact. It had been a sunny day and Tim had convinced an old friend to help him take pictures. It wasn't the best angle but the lighting was nice and highlighted his friend fairly well. 

The next page was another polaroid, the both of them in line for the war waiting to sign up. He regretted this one more than any choice in his life and concluded it was a mistake to even think of taking a picture to ‘capture the moment’, but he was desperate for any picture of the two of them so in the album it went. It didn't have good lighting and they were in a crowded building where the future soldiers moved in swarms, very few didn't pass the test to enter the army. He was dressed in a simple shirt and pants while his friend stood smirking in a long blue trench coat, he always had a flair for dramatics.

From there on the pictures became varied and slowly reached into more disturbing territories. The first was a picture of his troop all in uniform with smiles on their faces unaware of the horrors they would soon be facing. The next was a picture of his partner by a stream wearing the traditional military uniform , then another of them both together, and then three more he had taken of his partner when they weren't looking. Tim remembered them making fun of some of the pictures and saying he could just ask, but he always liked the more natural smiles and poses he had given in these ‘surprise photoshoots’ as they called them. On occasion Tim would ask for his partner to turn around before quickly snapping a blurry and surprised picture of him. 

The more disturbing pictures featured a variety of images he had either found buried in the ground or laying around. A picture of the respirators, one of the lead foil sheets, a piece from someones old uniform (he hadn’t managed to check their name or rank before needing to run), one of the microwave attacks he had just barely managed to catch in action, and of course a picture of them huddled together in the trenches. The last hit hard in the way a distant memory does. Tim was sitting cross legged with a bunch of other soldiers, none he recognized, with his guitar strumming away as his close partner sat by his side gesturing with his hands and singing along. He doesn't remember who he had asked to take this one just that he was grateful for their agreement. 

From there on they just got more disturbing. He had made a habit of picking up labels and badges to send back to the families he knew would miss them and taking pictures of any soldier who asked. Most of them had been sent back after the soldier had died as a way of remembrance and a poetic way to say that ‘a small piece of them made it home’. There were only two pictures he had made sure to take twice so he could keep a copy. One copy of himself that featured him smiling through tired and dark features with a disheveled and dirty uniform, and one of his partner.

He didn’t remember when the ‘friend’ turned to ‘partner’, he couldn’t even remember if it was before or after the pictures when he began to rephrase the term. If he had been a little more careful, been a little faster, maybe a little stronger, Tim might’ve been able to tell him when it shifted. He took a deep breath holding back his regret in a weak attempt to make it through the rest of the photo album. Quickly moving on he was greeted by two stuffed together pictures of the only two people who stayed with him. A smiling proud soldier made of wood dressed in a neat uniform, and a slouched over man with messy brown hair and odd eye makeup with a more careless appearance.

He knew the Toy Soldier kept the uniform locked away claiming it was too charming to be rid of and that it could be fixed with a couple patches, he didn't remember what Johnny did with his. Tim didn’t care much what happened to his uniform personally, but kept it out of obligation to his partner knowing that he might just be looking down and would be proud of what he had done. He had finished this war right? He was the one who took down the Moon Kaiser, he was the one who took revenge in a desperate rage. Could it even be counted as revenge anymore, and if so who was it revenge for?

Tim flipped to the last page of the album and the last picture he had taken, a picture of them both smiling arms around the other soldier in the trenches. He always loved this one the most but he didnt love it enough for it to be the last picture he would take before leaving the camera behind, he would trade everything to get him back. They both looked so carefree and happy despite their predicament and it upset him to know he would never see this smile again. He might’ve beat the Moon Kaiser but he never won, there was no winner in this story. 

“I'm sorry I couldn't save you Bertie,” Tim began. “I tried my best and I'm sorry you’re not here anymore.”

Gunpowder Tim was not graced with a response and never would be.


End file.
